


A Long Time Ago In The Future

by eternaleponine



Series: Clexathon 2016 [14]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, POV Second Person, Sorry Not Sorry, briefly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2018-09-13 07:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9111877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: When everything falls apart, a girl packs up and leaves in the middle of the night, driving through the middle of nowhere toward the only place she can think of to go: home.Except her car dies, and there's a storm coming, and she hasn't seen any signs of civilization in miles.Another girl lives by herself, away from everyone and everything, because she hopes that maybe if she can just get past February 16, just this once... maybe, somehow, this time it will be different.  It's February 14.  She's almost made it.Except then she pulls over to help a stranded motorist... and recognizes her.  Not from this life, but from another.And now she's sure this is the beginning of the end.Again.





	1. Chapter 1

The trouble with blasting music while driving is that when you start hearing a noise, it's sometimes hard to tell if it's the music or your car. 

The trouble with blasting music while driving a _really old car_ that is pretty much on its last legs (but you're at least 106% in denial about that fact because you _need_ to get where you're going even though it's however many hundreds of miles away from where you are) is that you let yourself continue to drive even when you're at least 123% sure that no, that noise is _not_ the music, it's the car, and it's not a good noise, not even a little bit...

... until the car stops.

Just... stops. All of the lights flicker and fade on the dash and the music goes abruptly silent, and you're no longer driving, you're coasting, and praying that at least a _few_ of your hazard lights don't need replacing (because you never did get around to it even after you _swore_ to the Very Nice Police Man that you would, absolutely, you already had an appointment with the dealership and you're so, so, _so_ sorry and you'll never let it happen again, Officer, really) because if anyone comes along you want them to at least stand a chance of seeing you before they hit you.

Not that anyone is coming along. Not down _this_ road. Not any time soon. 

Which means you are almost certainly well and truly fucked, because you don't remember the last time you saw a house, or any sign of civilization, and your phone's got no signal to call AAA, and only 34% battery (you could have _sworn_ you plugged it in to charge... but hey, go figure, the cigarette lighter is shot, too) anyway.

But hey, at least it's got enough signal to pop up a severe weather alert on the weather app.

Snow. A foot at least, and more in the higher elevations. Does where you are count as a higher elevation? Do you even know where you are?

Does it matter? 

The back seat of your car turned giant brick on wheels is crammed full of everything that you managed to grab in the middle of the night while he was gone, but you don't think there's any blankets in the mess, or any food either. 

You know how this ends, and you wonder why you bothered leaving in the first place. You're no better off now than you were, and maybe worse. 

You put your head down on your steering wheel, and for the first time in you don't remember how long, you let yourself cry.

* * *

She tapped her fingers on the wheel to the beat of the music, which was not but probably should have been country. It would have completed the picture. Okay, her boots weren't cowboy boots, they were just heavy-duty work boots, and although she did own a cowboy hat she wasn't wearing it, favoring a beanie instead because it covered her ears against the chill. But she had the jeans and the flannel and the pick-up truck with the bed filled with bales of hay, so someone twanging on a banjo and lamenting the fact that their dog left them for another man (or however things usually went) would have really tied it all together. 

She smiled to herself as she eased the truck around the curve, and hit the brakes (not too hard, although the snow was only just starting to fall and the roads weren't too slick yet) when she saw that there was a car just sitting there on the shoulder. The car's four-ways (or three ways, as one of them was out) were on, but it didn't look like there'd been an accident (not much to hit along this stretch). It was a strange place to stop, though, unless they'd had no choice. 

She rolled past slowly, glancing over, but she didn't see anyone in the car. Still... she didn't want to take any chances. Not with the weather that was coming. She knew it was only supposed to be old people who could feel weather in their bones, but then she wasn't young, was she? All outward appearances to the contrary. And she'd always had a sort of sense about these things. It didn't matter what the weather people said, with all of their fancy tools and science. She knew. When this storm really hit, it would hit hard, and fast, and it wouldn't let up for a good long while.

She eased the truck over, the gravel shoulder crunching under her new snow tires, which she'd cringed at the cost of but accepted as a necessity up there with food and shelter. She popped open the door and slid down, grabbing her coat from the hook in the cab and shrugging it on before she made her way back to the car.

Her heart leapt into her throat when she saw the blonde woman in the front seat slumped over the steering wheel, and she quickly glanced around, wondering if she'd missed evidence of an accident after all. But there was nothing, which meant... what? She didn't know what it meant.

She slid off her glove and rapped a knuckle against the glass, queasy at the thought that she might already be too late. She tapped again when there was no response, and this time she thought she saw movement.

"Ma'am?" she called. "Ma'am, are you all right?"

Finally, the woman looked up, eyes red-rimmed and puffy, and blue as the summer sky. 

Oh.

_Oh._

Not a woman. A girl, her own age or maybe younger. (She didn't think of herself as a woman – she was pretty sure you should at least be able to legally buy alcohol before you gave up the label of girlhood.) 

Not a girl that she knew. Not this time. Not yet.

She sighed. She'd thought this time, maybe...

But no. 

No.

Here they went again.

* * *

The tap on the glass barely registered, but then a muffled voice came through the window, and she lifted her head and looked up, expecting, or maybe just hoping, for the first – no, not the first, but maybe the first while behind the wheel of a car – time in her life that it was a police officer or someone else who might be able to help her.

But no, it was just a girl. Woman? Her age, or close enough to it, and dressed like the kind of person who belonged out here in the middle of nowhere. (Or like she imagined a person who belonged in the middle of nowhere would dress, which was basically just putting together all of the stuff that she saw in the LL Bean catalog that periodically showed up despite the fact that she'd never bought anything from them in her life) in one outfit.

"Are you okay?" the girl asked. 

She reached for the switch to make the window go down, but of course that wasn't working. Either it didn't run off of the battery, or it had just broken like everything else in this damn car (which was basically just a rolling metaphor for her life at this point) and stayed stubbornly shut.

She thought about just flashing a thumbs up and a smile, but she as pretty sure that this girl, with her eyes the color of the pine trees that lined the side of the road that wasn't a rather alarming drop-off, now that she was actually looking at it, would see right through her. So she pushed open the door, and the girl took a step back to let her, coming around and crouching down so she wasn't looming. 

That tiny gesture was almost enough to make her start crying all over again. She sniffled and scrubbed at her eyes with one of the many wadded up tissues in the passenger's seat... only to feel her other hand taken and something pressed into it. When she looked down she saw that it was an honest-to-god handkerchief, once bright red but now faded and starting to fray a little around the edges. Who the hell even carried those anymore?

This girl, apparently. 

She folded her fingers around the cloth and used it to blot her eyes. "Thanks," she mumbled. "It's..." She shook her head, not even knowing where to start. 

"Car trouble?" the girl asked. 

"It's dead."

"Hm." The girl pursed her lips, turning slightly to look up at the sky, her eyes narrowing and her forehead furrowing into a frown. "I'd offer to take a look, but we don't have time."

"What...?" She looked up at the sky, too, but she didn't see whatever the girl saw. 

"We've got just about enough time to get your stuff into my truck," she said, "and get back. We can see about the car later, maybe, when the roads are clear again."

Suddenly, for the second time in twenty-four hours (had it really been less than a day?) it felt like everything was moving far too quickly, and without her having any control over it. Even though it had been her choice to leave. "Get back where?"

"My place," the girl said. "You're not – you can't stay here, and there's nowhere else nearby."

Her heart thumped. She'd never been very good at trusting in the kindness of strangers, but she didn't actually have a choice right now, did she? Stay here in a dead car with no food and bad weather on the way, or take her chances on the girl with the scarlet handkerchief, who might be but probably wasn't a serial killer. Almost certain death on one hand, possible but relatively unlikely death on the other. 

"It's... a lot of stuff," she said finally. 

The girl looked, shrugged. "It's a big truck."

"Are you sure?"

Just the slightest hint of hesitation, and then she nodded. "Yes. But we have to move fast. The longer we wait, the greater the chance that we'll get caught, and I'm not going –" The girl stopped herself, stood, offered her a hand. "Seems like you've been through enough."

She took it and let herself be levered out of the car, and quickly, in near silence, they moved everything she had left in the world that she could call her own from the back seat of her car to the back of the girl's truck, the things that could stand to get a little bit damp wedged in among the hay bales with a tarp pulled over, the things that couldn't shoved in around them in the cab. 

"I'm sorry," she said. "I—"

"Don't be." The girl looked over at her. "Whatever happens, you don't owe me any apologies."

She frowned. What a strange thing to say... but not quite strange enough for her to get back out of the truck as the engine roared to life. "I don't even know your name," she said. 

The girl actually seemed to consider that for a minute, like she wasn't sure how to answer. Finally, after what seemed like an uncomfortably long time but was probably only a second or two, she said, "Lexa."

"I'm Clarke," she said, offering a hand. 

Lexa took it and shook briefly before putting the truck into gear and getting them back on the road. She flipped on the wipers as the snow began to fall harder. "I know," she said. 

"You...? How do you know?" Had she seen something with Clarke's name on it? Maybe she had; she hadn't been paying a lot of attention to who was handling what. 

The girl – Lexa – looked over at her for a second, then back at the road. When she finally spoke, it was in a voice barely audible above the music that filtered through the radio. "We knew each other once," she said, "a long time ago in the future."


	2. Chapter 2

_... a long time ago in the future._

What did that even _mean_? And how was it possible for something to be both a long time ago and in the future? It sounded like the kind of thing that Raven would say a couple of drinks in...

Clarke flinched away from thinking about Raven, who had tried to warn her more than once, but she hadn't listened, and look where it had landed her. In the middle of nowhere, being driven to the edge of nowhere by a girl she'd never met before in her life but who claimed to know her. Or to have known her before, a long time ago in the future.

"Stop," Clarke said, her voice so strangled even she barely heard, and then again, louder, "Stop!"

Lexa looked over at her, her face creased with concern. "I can't," she said. "I'm sorry, Clarke, but I can't do that. If I stop, if you go back – try to go back – you'll..." She pursed her lips, shook her head. "I don't know what's happened to you this time, but I need you to trust me."

_I know that's hard for you..._

The words were in Clarke's head but she didn't know where they'd come from. At least they sounded like her own thoughts, not ones that had been planted in her head and dug in roots so deep that she _thought_ they were her own when they were actually...

"I don't trust anyone," she said. 

Lexa glanced at her again, and Clarke expected her to look hurt, or angry, but no, she just looked sad. "I understand," she said. "I still can't turn around. Even if it was safe to leave you back at your car—" she glanced toward the side of the road that dropped off into oblivion, and then at the other, a solid rock face from which water had seeped and frozen in crystallized waterfalls, "—it's not safe to try to turn around." 

Clarke swallowed and finally nodded. What else could she do? Every choice she made was the wrong one and had been for a long time. She squeezed her hands together, clenching them between her knees to try to hide their shaking. "Is it far?"

"Not much farther," Lexa said. "Ten miles or so."

Clarke's eyes filled with tears, and she hastily brushed them in a way. Not far in a car, maybe, but way too far to walk, especially in a storm. And this was definitely a storm. Just in the few minutes they'd been driving the snow had picked up speed and started sticking to the road, and Lexa's wipers were going non-stop to keep the windshield clear. She'd slowed from what had seemed like a normal speed to something that felt like a crawl, although when Clarke glanced at the speedometer, it said they were going 45 mph. Which meant 15 minutes or so to get home.

_No, not home,_ Clarke reminded herself. _Just a place to stay for a little while, until the road is clear again and you can—_ Her internal monologue screeched to a halt as she realized that even when the storm was over and the roads were clear, she didn't have a car. Not unless Lexa or someone could fix it, and that seemed like a longshot. 

_I should have taken his car,_ she thought. It had been hers to begin with, but she'd let him convince her that he needed it more because his commute was longer, and... Clarke shook her head hard, trying to derail the train of thought before it could pick up steam, then reached out and twisted the dial until the music was loud enough to drown out her thoughts. Lexa flinched, but didn't turn it down. She was leaning forward slightly now, like that would help her see through the snow to find whatever she was looking for. 

"Shit," she said, and hit the brakes too hard, sending them into a skid.

Clarke jerked forward against her seatbelt, her heart slamming against her ribcage (or at least it felt like it), and the only thought in her head as they swerved out of control was, _This can't be how it ends._

* * *

Lexa finally got the truck back under control. She thought about pulling over until her breathing and heartrate were back to something resembling normal, but there was no time. She looked over at Clarke, whose eyes were squeezed shut like she was still bracing for impact. Lexa switched off the radio as she reached over to touch Clarke's arm. "I'm sorry," she said. "I almost missed the turn. It's not well-marked, and I keep thinking that I should do something about that, but I'm the only person who comes this way, really, so it doesn't matter... until it does, I guess." She forced a laugh. "But we're okay." She squeezed Clarke's arm again. "You're okay, Clarke. You can open your eyes. You're okay." 

Clarke's eyes cracked open and she looked around, blinking like she didn't quite believe it. Lexa made herself smile as she put her hand back on the steering wheel. "We're almost there," she said, "and there's no more turns to miss. I promise." 

They rode in silence, Lexa's eyes never straying from the road so there would be no surprises. Finally the outlines of the house and barn and shed rose in the distance (although a lot closer than they would have been on a clear day) and she eased to a stop. "We're going to need to move quickly," she said. "You get your stuff inside, I'll deal with the hay and other supplies." She pushed open her door and slid out, going around to the back of the truck and dropping the gate. "Clarke!" she shouted. "Now!"

Clarke finally appeared, her arms full of things from the cab. "How do I...?" 

Lexa frowned. "How do you what?"

"Get in?" Clarke asked. 

"The door—" It finally clicked. "You can just go straight in," Lexa said. "It's not locked." She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling at the bewildered expression on Clarke's face. "No one comes out this far if they can help it," she said. "And I don't have anything worth stealing anyway." 

Clarke nodded and headed for the door while Lexa began to unload the bales of hay, carrying them quickly into the barn and dropping them in as neat a stack as she could manage. The goats bleated balefully at her, but she didn't have time to scratch their heads and explain to them that the weather was too bad for them to go outside. 

They worked in tandem, Clarke dragging her things into the house and Lexa making trips back and forth to the barn. Finally everything of Clarke's was out of the bed of the truck, and she stood next to the truck like she wasn't sure what to do with herself while snow settled on her head and shoulders, beading into drops of moisture where it landed on her skin. "Can I help?" she asked. 

Lexa considered her for a second, then nodded. "Grab that bag there and bring it into the barn. Careful, though. It's heavy." She grabbed another bale of hay and watched out of the corner of her eye as Clarke struggled to heft the feed bag over her shoulder, slipping and sliding in shoes not meant for this kind of weather, but she followed doggedly behind Lexa, not giving up until everything was where it needed to be. 

A gust of wind staggered them both, and Lexa was surprised when Clarke's hand darted out, instinctively reaching to steady her, or maybe to steady herself against Lexa. Either way, it was the sort of thing that she might have done... She tightened her jaw, forcing the thought down and locking it away in the box of memories she so often wished she couldn't remember. "Go inside," she said. "I'll be right in."

Clarke looked for a second like she might argue, but she turned toward the house, her steps dragging. Lexa took a few minutes to make sure that the animals had the food and water they needed to get them through the next few hours, then grabbed a shovel and a length of rope. 

She tied one end of the rope to an eye bolt screwed into the barn's door frame, then trekked back to the house, where there was another bolt in the entry of the little sheltered porch that kept the snow and wind away from her front door. She secured the other end of the rope to it and leaned the shovel against one wall. 

"Like Little House," Clarke said. "Even if you can't see, you can follow the rope to the barn to tend to the animals." 

Lexa smiled. "Exactly," she said. "Now let's get you settled."

* * *

Clarke followed Lexa into the house, her cheeks flaming as Lexa had to dodge around the pile of Clarke's stuff that she'd just dumped right inside the door. She hadn't known where to put it and hadn't wanted to track snow and mud everywhere and risk Lexa getting angry at her. Not that she seemed like the violent type, but she had misjudged people before, and cold, silent fury could be just as bad.

She watched as Lexa slipped off her boots and hung up her coat and followed suit, hugging herself against the chill in the room. And now that she looked around, it really was just one room – kitchen with a small table and two chairs in one corner, bed in another, and a little living area that consisted primarily of a recliner, a lumpy worn loveseat, and a small coffee table scattered with candles. She didn't even see a TV anywhere. There was a freestanding wardrobe over by the bed, and a door to what had to be the bathroom just behind Lexa. 

"Here," Lexa said, handing her a pair of sheepskin slippers. "These are newer, so they're less broken in to my feet." She pulled another, distinctly more worn pair down from a shelf and slid her feet into them. "A Christmas present to myself," she said, nodding to the ones that Clarke still held. "Go on. I'll get the fire going, but it'll take a little bit for it to warm up in here. Usually I do it first thing, but I was in a hurry to get ahead of the storm." 

Clarke did as she was told and watched as Lexa opened the door to a wood stove and stirred up the embers before loading in kindling and firewood and closing the door again. "Stove is for heat," she explained, seeing Clarke's eyes flick to the fireplace. "Fireplace is for ambience. And marshmallows." She grinned. "We can light that later if you want. For now, are you hungry?"

Clarke didn't know what to say. Yes, she was hungry; she hadn't eaten since dinner the night before, and even that she'd barely touched, nerves about what she was planning to do killing her appetite. But she couldn't push the words past her lips. After a few seconds, Lexa just went to the kitchen and started getting out pots and pans anyway. 

"There's a power strip next to the couch," she called over her shoulder. "You can plug in your phone to charge it if you need to, or anything else. I figure you might want to call whoever you were going to see, let them know you've been delayed."

Clarke swallowed. How did she...? But obviously she was going to see someone. No one drove through an area like this without a destination, right? "I don't have any signal," she said. 

Lexa grimaced. "That happens out here. A lot. I have a landline." She turned to look at Clarke, her eyes shining. "Yes, that's still a thing. You can use that."

"It's long distance," Clarke said, knowing vaguely that that made a difference with a landline. 

"It's fine," Lexa said. "I can spare a few dollars so whoever is waiting for you knows that you're safe. The number is next to the phone – you can give them that in case they need to reach you. The address, too, if you want. Here." She stopped what she was doing and scribbled something on a piece of paper, pressing it into Clarke's hand before going to the fridge, then back to the stove.

Clarke looked down. On it was scribbled her name – Lexa Woods – and the address of the house, such as it was. Just a number and a route, and she doubted that there was mail delivery out here; Lexa probably had to go into town, wherever that was, to pick it up from a post office box. 

But she could sense what Lexa was doing, giving her this, offering to let her call whoever she needed to call. She was trying to set her at ease, giving her all of the information someone would need to find her if they needed to. Trying to prove that she wasn't a threat. 

She didn't need to. Clarke already knew. Even with the strange thing she'd said about knowing her before... Clarke knew. Lexa felt safe in a way that no one had since her father died, and she turned away so that Lexa wouldn't see the fresh rush of tears that flooded her eyes. She glanced around for a box of tissues, but her eyes snagged on the flash of red in her jacket pocket first, the corner of the crumpled handkerchief poking out. She went and retrieved it, dabbing at her eyes. It smelled of lavender, and Clarke wondered suddenly, bewilderingly, if Lexa did too.

She set the piece of paper down by the phone and leaned heavily against the counter, reality pressing in on her like too much gravity, squeezing the air from her lungs until she finally admitted the truth: "There's no one waiting for me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you think I'd forgotten this story? *g* Welcome back... hope you enjoyed this next installment, and I will try very hard not to let there be such a long gap before the next one!


	3. Chapter 3

Lexa poured water over the frozen lump of soup in the pot, stirring it so that it would start to thaw as she gathered her thoughts. Clarke said there was no one waiting for her, but she had to be headed toward _something_. No one just drove through this part of the country just for the hell of it. Especially not at this time of year, and in a car that was in no shape to be taken on a cross-country journey. There had to be a reason she'd chosen this route, and she had to have a destination beyond this place. Otherwise...

"Say something," Clarke finally said, her voice tight. 

Lexa glanced at her, saw the tension in every line of her body. "In the cupboard over there," she said, tipping her head as she went to the sink to fill a pot with water, "there's a box of pasta. Can you get it for me?"

Clarke just stared at her for a moment, then went to the cupboard and opened it. "Which one?"

"The ditalini," Lexa said. "The shells are for macaroni and cheese."

Clarke set the box down on the counter next to Lexa. "Don't tell me you're one of those Velveeta people," she said. "If you are, I think I might have to take my chances with the storm." 

Lexa looked over and saw the faintest hint of a smile twitching the corners of Clarke's lips, and she had to bite the inside of her own to keep memories from flooding in and giving her ideas. She just smiled back. "Never," she said. "It's not even cheese. I just like them better than actual macaroni." She shrugged. "Bread's in the breadbox – yes, that's actually a thing, too, city girl," she teased as Clarke's eyebrows went up, "and butter's on the counter. Sliced cheese – no, not the kind wrapped in plastic, give me some credit – is in the refrigerator. If you don't mind starting the sandwiches."

"It's been so long since I had grilled cheese," Clarke said. "My dad used to make it for me when I was home sick, assuming I could stomach it. Grilled cheese and chicken and stars."

"This is minestrone," Lexa said. "I have chicken, too, but no stars." 

"Not on a night like tonight," Clarke said, glancing toward the window. "Or like tonight will be, I guess." She wasn't entirely wrong about it looking like night, though, or at least not mid-morning. The light was dim and diffuse, and the snow was coming down hard enough that Lexa could barely make out the shed that stood within yards of the house. Lexa hadn't considered the fact that it wasn't even noon when she'd started cooking; it was more brunch than lunchtime, but she'd been up since before the sun and she'd wanted something filling for Clarke, who she suspected hadn't had breakfast. 

She watched as Clarke pulled the loaf of bread (store brought and pre-sliced, to Lexa's shame) from the breadbox and began slathering slices with butter, grimacing as it tugged at the crumb because even at room temperature it was too cold to spread well. She glanced around like she was looking for something. "No microwave?" she asked after a second.

Lexa shook her head. "No need."

"How do you reheat things?" Clarke asked. 

Lexa gestured to the stove and nudged the oven with her knee. "The way people have for centuries," she said. 

"But it takes so much longer," Clarke said. 

Lexa laughed. "Do I look like I have something better to do with my time?"

* * *

Clarke was startled by Lexa's laughter, even though it was barely more than a soft exhale. Or maybe it was the fact that the sound released something inside of her, like something had unknotted and her anxiety was able to ratchet down a few notches. She hadn't realized she'd had her shoulders tensed up practically to her ears until she exhaled and felt them sink back down to where they belonged. "I guess not," she admitted. "But doesn't the farm keep you busy? From the Little House books, it seemed like they were always busy doing something."

"In the summer I'm busier," Lexa said. "Tending gardens, doing repairs, that kind of thing. Fall there's harvesting the last of everything and preserving it. This time of year..." She shrugged. "Goats get milked twice a day. Eggs get collected at the same time. Neither takes all that long."

"What do you do the rest of the time?" Clarke asked. "Don't you get lonely?" The question was out before she thought about it. Would Lexa consider it rude? _Was_ it rude? Really, though, what she _should_ be worried about was the possibility that her asking Lexa questions would lead to Lexa asking her questions. Questions that she wouldn't want to answer or wouldn't know how to answer. At least not honestly, and there was something about this girl that made her want to be honest. 

"I read a lot," Lexa said. "Thank goodness for being able to borrow ebooks from the library. I have Netflix – yes, I can get internet all the way out here –" She winked at Clarke, and Clarke felt her cheeks go warm, and her anxiety slipped down another half a notch with the teasing aside, like Lexa was sure she knew what Clarke was going to say and was ready to pre-empt it... or maybe she just knew that it would make Clarke smile. "And Hulu and all of that. I'm not completely cut off from the world."

"But you're pretty far away from people," Clarke said. 

"That's not always a bad thing, is it?" Lexa countered. It wasn't really a question. 

"No," Clarke said softly. "Where's the pan for—" She stopped as Lexa slid a skillet from one of the back burners to the front. "Thanks."

"You'll probably want to put some butter directly in it," Lexa said. "It's not non-stick."

"I figured," Clarke said. It was a heavy cast-iron thing that looked like it had seen years of use... more years than Lexa could have been living on her own. Maybe it had been handed down to her. Was that something people did? Handed down cookware? She took some butter from the dish and put it directly in the pan, swirling it around until it melted, and then dropped the first of the sandwiches in. 

They worked side by side in silence for a little while, Clarke carefully checking and flipping the grilled cheese to make sure it was perfectly done on both sides while Lexa made pasta in one pot, and when it was done, dumped it into the other. At Clarke's questioning look, she explained, "I make the soup in big batches and then freeze it into one or two meal portions. If I put the pasta in when I first made it, the noodles would suck up moisture while it was freezing and end up all bloated and squishy when I reheated it. This way it's always al dente." 

"Where'd you learn that trick?" Clarke asked.

"Would you believe I came up with it myself?" Lexa asked. 

"Yes," Clarke said. Lexa seemed clever enough to have figured something like that on her own. "But did you?"

The look Lexa gave her was half-scathing, half-amused. "I'm not sure how to take that," she said. "Anyway, soup's done."

"So are these," Clarke said, flipping the second sandwich out of the pan and onto a plate while Lexa dished up the soup. They moved over to the table and sat, their bodies turned towards each other even though they weren't talking. 

"This is good," Clarke said, dipping another spoonful of the soup. 

"Thank you," Lexa said. "I would love to say that everything in it is home-grown, but the beans aren't. And the noodles, obviously."

"You don't have a pasta tree growing out there?" Clarke asked. "I'm disappointed." 

Lexa rolled her eyes. "The closest thing I've got is spaghetti squash."

"I'm even more disappointed," Clarke said. 

"If you're here for a few days, we can bust out the chicken noodle. Everything in _that_ is from the farm except the noodles," Lexa said. There was a hint of pride in her voice. 

"Even the chicken?" Clarke asked. 

"What do you think you do with hens that can't lay anymore?" Lexa asked. "Or cocks that wake you up too early?" 

It was a joke, but at the same time it wasn't, and Clarke shivered. When Lexa had called her a city girl, she hadn't been wrong. Her entire life she'd had the luxury of being able to divorce herself from thinking about where her food came from. Out here, she guessed that wasn't really possible. 

Lexa reached out and touched the back of Clarke's hand, and she forced herself not to flinch as she met Lexa's eyes. "I don't like it," Lexa said. "But it's necessary."

* * *

Clarke nodded, and slid her hand out from under Lexa's. Lexa curled her fingers into a loose fist, the warmth of Clarke's skin now imprinted on it her own, and she let out a slow breath as she forced herself to stay in the moment. 

When they were done eating they cleaned up, Lexa washing the dishes and Clarke drying them even though Lexa said they could be left to air dry. (The truth was she often used the same dishes day after day, just washing them and letting them dry, and using them again straight from the drainboard.) She suspected Clarke just needed something to do to make herself feel useful; she didn't do well with being idle. Lexa wondered if this Clarke was an artist like her Clarke had been, and if she had any supplies with her, or even if she had anything in the house that she could offer. 

"Are you sure there's no one you want to call?" Lexa asked gently, wiping her hands on the towel Clarke had been using and then draping it over the even handle. "I know you said—"

"I was going to see my mom," Clarke said. "She doesn't know I'm coming, but that's where I'm going. Where I _was_ going, until..." She trailed off. 

"You'll get there," Lexa said. "One way or another."

"My car is dead," Clarke said. 

"We'll figure it out," Lexa said. _Or you will._ Because she couldn't promise Clarke that she would be there to help her. Not when the countdown clock had started ticking. Two more sunsets, and then at the third... She clenched her jaw, swallowed hard. "You'll get back to your pe—your mother. You should call her." 

"I'll call her later," Clarke said. "When I know what's happening." 

Lexa gave in. "All right," she said. "Make yourself at home, then. Let me know if there's anything you need." 

"A shower," Clarke said. "Maybe a nap."

Lexa smiled. "I can do that," she said. "Let me get you a towel."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late post, but better late than never, right?


	4. Chapter 4

While Lexa got her the promised towel Clarke rifled through her suitcase to find clean clothing to change into. Her packing had been haphazard at best; she'd been in too much of a rush to pay attention to what was clean and what was dirty as she stuffed it into the bag. It was all mixed together, crumpled rather than folded, but she didn't think Lexa would judge her for being a little wrinkled. And maybe if she was lucky the steam from the shower would help with that.

"I put a towel and wash cloth in the bathroom for you," Lexa said. "The blue ones. There's soap in there, and shampoo and conditioner if you need it." 

"Thank you," Clarke said, and meant it. 

"Is there anything else you need?" Lexa asked. 

"I don't think so," Clarke said. "I brought some stuff..." She held up her toiletry kit, which she'd crammed the contents of the bathroom counter into. It was full to bursting, and she suspected that not everything in it was hers. Which would have consequences when—

She forced back the thought before it could show on her face, but maybe she was too late because Lexa was looking at her like she wanted to say something, or reach out and touch her, or... Clarke didn't know, and she couldn't deal with it right now. She couldn't handle someone else's concern. If she acknowledged that there was something to be concerned about, even for a second, she might crack, and then it would be game over. 

"If you do think of anything, just let me know," Lexa said. "I don't have a lot, but anything I do have is yours as long as you're here." 

Clarke nodded, mumbling a quick thanks around the lump in her throat, and ducked into the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind her. She reached for the lock out of habit but there wasn't one. Why would there be, when Lexa lived here alone? There was no one to keep out. 

Except now there was, but Lexa wouldn't do that. She wouldn't just barge in on Clarke while she was in the shower. Clarke didn't know how she knew that – maybe just because it was common decency – but she knew it as surely as she knew anything. Even so, she was slow to undress, her eyes flicking to the small window high up on the wall that let light into the small room. There was nothing out there but snow and more snow, and it was too high up for anyone to peer into without a ladder. 

She was fine. She was safe. 

She started the shower running, and it took a few minutes for the hot water to start flowing. While she was waiting, she sifted through the various tubes and bottles she'd brought, dumping any that weren't hers into the trash and burying them under wadded up tissues. Fleetingly, she wondered how Lexa dealt with garbage out here; surely there wasn't weekly trash pickup. It wasn't really her problem, though, was it? She wouldn't be here long enough to find out. Just a few days, until the storm passed and she could figure out what to do about her car. Or not. Maybe she would just call her mom and ask her to book her a flight from the nearest airport... but she would still need a way to get to said airport, and she had no idea how far away that might be, and it wouldn't be fair to ask Lexa to drive her if it was hours away... and out here, it might be. 

It was a worry for another time. She hadn't had the chance to check the weather, but Lexa had made it pretty clear that this wasn't something that they would be dug out of tomorrow, even if it had stopped by then. So she might as well settle in and try to relax, as much as that was ever possible for her, for a little while.

Clarke stuck her hand into the shower to check the temperature, and upon discovering that it was finally hot, stripped out of her bra and panties and stepped into the spray. She almost moaned as the water hit her skin and the warmth started to seep through her. It felt good – better than good – as she tipped back her head and ran her fingers through her hair, then turned and let It run down her face. She rubbed it with her hands, the heels of her palms pressing into her eyes until she saw stars, breathing slowly until the feeling of hot needles passed. 

She reached for the bar of soap that sat in a little dish in one corner of the tub and began to scrub. The fresh, clean scent of lavender surrounded her, perfuming the air and her skin, and she breathed it in, sucking it deep into her lungs and exhaling slowly, as if it was possible to expel the last few days... months... years (god, _years_...) from her system by sheer force of will.

Time lost meaning as she washed all traces of the past – of him – from her skin, and hair, and every part of her that she could reach. The water was starting to cool, even though she had it turned all the way to hot, by the time she finally felt mostly like herself again. She turned it off and stepped out.

* * *

Lexa heard the shower turn off and breathed out a relieved sigh. She hadn't been fully aware that she was worrying while Clarke was out of her sight until it eased. She wasn't even sure what she was worried Clarke might do; the idea of her causing herself harm didn't feel right. She was the sort of person who gave all of herself for others. Selfless, not selfish. The one time she'd let herself have something she wanted just for herself, not for her people...

Lexa shook her head, a quick jerk as if she could physically dislodge the thought, the memory... She pressed her hand over her heart to see if it was really pounding as fast and hard as she thought, but her pulse remaining steady. She was only imagining it. 

For now. When darkness fell and she tried to sleep, it might be a different story. 

She went to the woodstove and put in another log, assessing the state of the woodpile and wondering if maybe she ought to bring in more wood, and restock the supply that was in the covered porch. The last thing she wanted was to get low, especially now that she had a guest. She could deal with the cold if she had to, but she didn't want Clarke to be uncomfortable. 

The bathroom door finally opened as she was shoving her feet back into her boots, spilling a wave of steamy lavender-scented air into the cabin. Lexa looked up and smiled at Clarke, who stood in the bathroom doorway, still toweling her hair. "Feeling better?" she asked.

"Where are you going?" Clarke asked. 

"Just to get more wood," Lexa said. "It won't take long."

"I'll help," Clarke said, but Lexa shook her head. 

"Not with wet hair, you won't," she said, then grimaced, realizing how much she sounded like a mother, or maybe a grandmother. From the way Clarke's eyes narrowed, she heard it too, and she wasn't amused. 

"There's a thing called a hat," Clarke said. "Amazing invention."

Lexa laughed. "Fine," she said. "If you really want to help, you can bring in wood from the porch, and I'll restock it from the woodpile."

Clarke glanced at the window and the snow whirling by, blowing almost sideways as the wind gusted. "Is it safe?" she asked. "It's..." 

"Safer now than it will be later," Lexa said. "As bad as it looks, this is just getting started." She tried to make her voice reassuring as she said, "The wood pile isn't far. Here." She pushed open the curtains so that Clarke could see out and pointed to a mound a few yards from the door, where it was still possible to see the ends of logs poking out. "It's right there. You can see it from the house, and the house from it." She touched Clarke's arm lightly. "I've been through worse than this," she told her. "I'll be fine."

Clarke frowned, but nodded, and Lexa finished bundling herself up to go outdoors. She grabbed the shovel and cleared a path to the woodpile. It wouldn't last, but it was better than not having a path at all. The snow already overtopped her boots, but she had thick wool socks pulled up over the hems of her flannel-lined jeans so nothing could get in. She made a dozen trips back and forth, carrying as much as she could to restock what Clarke was bringing inside and then some. When the cold began to seep through despite her layers she knew it was time to call it quits. 

She beat as much of the snow that had crusted her coat and jeans off as she could before she went in so that it wouldn't leave puddles when it melted, then stepped inside. Clarke was standing just inside the doorway, and she took a quick step back to give Lexa room. "See?" Lexa said. "I'm fine." She pulled off her hat and unwound her scarf, slowly restoring herself from abominable snowwoman to human being, Clarke watching her all the while with fingers twitching at her sides like she wanted to reach out and touch her, maybe to help, or maybe...

_Don't,_ Lexa told herself. _Don't go there._

"That shower is sounding pretty good," she said, partly because it would help her warm up and partly because she just needed space to think. Or not think. Just... space. That wasn't occupied by Clarke.

* * *

_Oh shit._

Guilt and adrenaline rushed through her in equal measure, freezing her in place. People always talked about the fight-or-flight instinct, completely forgetting that there was a third option: freeze. When faced with a predator, an animal might flee, or it might defend itself... or it might just freeze and hope that the threat would pass, that if it stayed still enough for long enough it would remain unseen and eventually be forgotten, and in so doing live another day. 

_Lexa isn't a predator,_ she reminded herself. _She's not a threat._ "I think I used all of the hot water," she admitted. "Or most of it. I don't—I didn't—"

Lexa waved the apology away. "It's all right," she said. "It will just take a little while for the tank to refill. That's what that," she pointed to the woodstove, which had warmed up the space admirably, "and blankets are for." 

Suiting deed to word, Lexa went to the recliner and sat down, draping a blanket over herself. She picked up a Kindle (or some other kind of tablet) and tapped on the screen. After a few seconds, Clarke found her backpack and brought it over to the loveseat, sitting down gingerly and pulling out her laptop. She found a power strip and plugged it in, then flipped it open. She should email her professors, let them know...

Let them know what? That she would be gone a few days? She didn't know how long she would be gone at this point. It wasn't as if this was just a storm she could wait out. She'd left, and she couldn't go back. Not in a few days or weeks. Not ever. As long as he...

She closed the laptop again, setting it on the coffee table so it could charge, and pulled out a textbook instead. Not that there was any point in doing the reading for a class that she probably wouldn't be attending again, but there was nothing wrong with learning for learning's sake, right? And she would take the class, or something like it, again. Probably. 

She settled back, arranging the throw pillows around her to counteract the lumps, and flipped to a chapter at random because she couldn't remember what the assignment for this week was. Not that it mattered. It wouldn't hurt her to review old stuff anyway, considering how distracted she'd been all semester, or she could get ahead, or...

The words blurred, and she blinked hard, trying to force her eyes to focus. After a few paragraphs, she realized that they weren't even _open_ anymore, and she'd just been imagining, or maybe dreaming them (but didn't they say that you can't read in dreams?). She pried her eyelids open, but a second later they were closed again, and maybe it wouldn't hurt to rest them, just for a few minutes...

* * *

Lexa slid the heavy book from Clarke's lap and set it aside, then gently coaxed her from sitting to laying down. Clarke's eyelids fluttered and she murmured a few unintelligible syllables, but even as she moved, Lexa was pretty sure she wasn't really awake. Lexa took the blanket she'd been using and draped it over Clarke, smoothing it over her shoulder and brushing back a strand of still-damp hair from her temple before stepping back so she could nap in peace. 

She looked around, not sure what to do with herself. Normally during a storm she would just hunker down and binge Netflix or something, but she was filled with a restless energy that wouldn't let her sit still. Her eyes caught on the calendar next to the phone and she realized what day it was. 

February 14. Valentine's Day. Not that she hadn't known the date, but she hadn't really thought about it. The fact that Clarke – the love of her life, of _all_ of her lives – showed up today, of all days... the irony wasn't lost on her. 

She went to the kitchen and began to pull out ingredients. She tried to be quiet, but every time something rattled or thumped or clanged a little louder than she'd anticipated, a quick look over at Clarke told her that she was too deeply asleep to even notice. So she stopped trying quite so hard, and focused instead on what she was doing, mixing flour and sugar and eggs in a bowl and watching as it formed into a lump of dough. 

While the dough chilled, she wondered if she ought to let Clarke sleep so long. If she slept all afternoon, would she sleep tonight? But Lexa got the feeling that she hadn't slept much, if at all, the night before, so probably it was all right. Anyway, it gave her the escape she'd wanted, didn't it? Except there was no way for her to _not_ be aware of Clarke. Her presence filled the cabin, pressed in around Lexa, wormed its way under her skin and burrowed deep, as tangled and vital as the network of nerves and blood vessels illustrated in Clarke's textbook. 

The only thing she could do was focus on the task at hand as single-mindedly as she could manage. Baking as meditation, or something like that. When the dough was cold enough, she took it out and rolled it to a perfectly even thickness, and she pressed the cookie cutter through it, over and over, filling two trays and putting them into the oven, then two more. Too many, probably, but was there really such a thing?

When the cookies were out of the oven and cool, she spread jam on half of them, then pressed the other half onto them as lids, and dusted them all with a little powdered sugar. She put a few on a plate and set them where Clarke would see them when she woke up, then went about tidying the kitchen. 

When she looked over at Clarke again, she saw that she was awake, one of the cookies held so tightly between her fingers that it was starting to crumble. "Happy Valentine's Day," she said. 

Clarke looked at her with tear-filled eyes and a clenched jaw. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was thick with so many emotions Lexa couldn't begin to untangle them all: "I left because I couldn't say no."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry if the lack of names until the very end was confusing... I kind of intended it to be. This was just a weird little thing that started with the last line... and somehow took on a life of its own. There is, of course, more to the story, because my brain is incapable of writing one-shots, apparently.


End file.
